Through the Storm(11)

Memories of his mother reading Bible stories at bedtime flashed through his mind. He set the book down. He didn’t need a Bible; he needed a ride home to the little brother he had left alone.

He stood next to the sedan, wishing someone would come along. He wanted to tell the authorities about the dead family. Certainly, they could explain the broken and abandoned vehicles. Couldn’t they? “Help. Somebody? Anybody?”

“Hoo?” An owl called.

Tingles rippled along Conner’s spine. Panic surged within him. What had happened to the world?

He ran toward town.

*

Lane County, Oregon, Sunday, September 4th

Neal turned in panic. A man with wild, crazed eyes stared through the driver’s side window. Then he slammed his fist against the glass again.

Neal stomped the gas pedal, hurtling his vehicle toward the wall of flame. A yank of the steering wheel put the car into a skid into the other lane where it slammed into an abandoned sedan.

Crazy man, along with others, ran toward him.

Neal thrust the car into reverse; it flew backward, missing a woman by inches. Neal shifted into drive. Tires spun. The car sputtered and then roared down the freeway in the wrong direction.

Weaving around abandoned cars until he came to an onramp, he exited the freeway. In addition to shooting a man, he had now committed hit and run and sped down the freeway in the wrong direction. Only criminals have days like this.

Driving along side streets lined with suburban shops and homes, his breathing returned to near normal. As his mind cleared, a rattling sound from the right front of the car caused his gut to wrench.

Ahead stood a stop sign. He slowed and looked for people. This might be the place to pause and examine the damage.

He rolled forward.

An old pickup raced across the intersection in front of him.

Neal gasped and slammed on the brakes. Cautiously, he eased the vehicle forward and then rolled to a stop along the curb.

Breathe normally.

Neal looked over his shoulder. The pickup driver either knew how to fix an auto latch-up or the old truck had no electronics. Driving defensively is still a good idea. He grinned but wasn’t sure why.

After taking a deep breath, he examined the area around him. Small shops with dark windows lined the street. Several recessed doorways provided hiding places. Smoke from the west drifted into this seemingly deserted area south of Eugene. Lifting an arm, Neal wiped his nose on a sleeve.

He needed to inspect the front of his car but didn’t want to leave the vehicle or turn it off. Neal gritted his teeth as memories of the thug bleeding on the pavement returned. He looked around while keeping a tight grip on his pistol. He didn’t want to shoot anyone over a damaged car, but he’d fight before allowing anyone to take it from him.

Seeing no one, Neal shifted into park and, without turning off the car, cracked open the door. After a glance all around, he jumped from the vehicle and raced to the front. Smoke hung heavy in the air. The right corner light hung loose, and the front fender had been torn and pushed close to the tire, but not against it. He smiled. The car remained drivable.

Then he heard the hissing sound.

Neal slid the pistol into the holster of his jacket and leaned close. The sweet smell of anti-freeze hit him before he spotted the tiny puncture in the radiator. The damage had almost certainly occurred when he hit the other car but such details didn’t concern him. The fluid would leak out, causing his car to overheat and die. That concerned him.

He stood straight. Smoke from the burning city drifted along the street as he considered what to do.

On the far side of the road, a man stood in a doorway and watched. One hand hung empty by the man’s side, but the other remained hidden in the entryway.

Neal edged around to the front of the car. With each step, he became a larger target.

“How come that car runs?” the man asked.

Without a word, Neal sidestepped toward the driver’s door.

“Don’t run off. Just tell me how come your car works.”

“Try disconnecting the battery for a few seconds.” Neal threw open the driver’s door, jumped in, yanked the car into drive, and hurried down the road. A glance at the dash told him what he feared. The temperature light already glowed red.

Neal considered his options. He could stop and use something to plug the leak or find more fluid, but should he leave the car running? If he did, there was a strong possibility it would be stolen. If he turned the car off it might not restart. Even if it did restart, he might not be able to plug the leak, and more fluid was only a temporary fix. He decided to drive until the car died and then find another among the thousands of abandoned vehicles.

Five miles north, the engine shook, sputtered, and seized.

Neal put the vehicle in neutral and let the remaining momentum roll it to the curb.

He stuffed a few tools into the pack that served as his go-bag and grabbed his phone. With little hope of success, he turned it on.

No service.

Still, he tried to call home.

Nothing happened.

He drank some water and hefted the pack onto his back. The saying that long journeys begin with a single step entered his mind. His gaze drifted from the car to the endless road before him. He stepped forward, left the car behind, and hiked north.

As the sun continued its daily arc across the sky, Neal hiked along the side streets, always moving north and east in an effort to skirt the city and avoid the fires. More than a dozen times he passed abandoned cars, but each time he found no keys. Considering the day I’m having, why not add car prowling and grand theft auto to my list of crimes? He checked another car and shook his head. No keys. I should have learned how to hotwire vehicles.